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No. Don’t be stupid.
The air in the room changes and I feel panicky and sick.
I look over at his broad back as he stares down at the street lost in his own world. What is he thinking about?
Is he onto me?
I don’t want him to take me shopping now. I want to get as far away from him as possible. I feel guilty. I know he is feeling somewhat guilty for letting them take me, throwing money at me and all. What if he knows I took it and he is setting a trap to see if I will really go through with it?
Oh, I hate this. I am not cut out to be a fucking criminal.
My thoughts are broken by his deep, husky voice. “Come on then.” He moves to the door and ushers me out.
Moments later, we are walking through the reception area and he picks up my hand and takes it in his. My heart flutters. We haven’t been intimate since he told me he was bored in the cabin and was going to Chelsea, and he hasn’t tried to touch me at all. Not that I have wanted him to. He is probably lucky he hasn’t, to be honest, because I may have cut off his hand.
Part of me—the insecure part—wonders if he turned off me when he heard about my fucked up family, of me being broke and hiding all of my life. Of my own flesh and blood murdering the mother of his child in front of that child. I know I shouldn’t feel embarrassed and it’s not my fault, but I feel as though, in the eyes of others, it taints me.
It takes away my shine and tarnishes my innocence.
I mean, how would my future boyfriend introduce me to his parents or to his friends?
He couldn’t. He could never truthfully tell them my story because it will never be accepted. Nobody would want their son to marry someone like me with the emotional baggage I have. I can only bring danger to their lives and pain. I’m good at bringing that and that’s why Mom kept us at a distance from normal people.
My children will never have freedom as long as I live in the United States with my father alive. He will always find me.
It is with the last thought strong in my mind that I pick up. I need to do this.
I do deserve a new start where nobody owes me anything.
I look him straight in the eye. “Lets go shopping.”
This is fucking drug money and I’m entitled to it as much as any of those bastards.
* * *
We walk hand in hand down the street and I have a huge smile across my face. We have opened a bank account, which was surprisingly easy. Stace has gone crazy and we are loaded with shopping bags. He has bought me nightgowns and swimmers, makeup and hairbrushes, underwear, dresses, a hat, and three pairs of shoes. I tried to pay with the money he gave me but he wouldn’t have it. Funny thing is, the things he has picked for me are not my style at all, but because he has liked them on me, I have wanted them. As if somehow his opinion is the only one that matters. I am a new person now. I can be anyone I want to be.
He stops in front of a designer boutique. “Let’s go in here.”
I look at the expensive furnishings. “It looks too expensive. I don’t need fancy clothes.”
“What if you have a date? You will need something nice to wear.”
I smile up at him in wonder. “A date with who?”
He shrugs and smiles sexily down at me. “Some lucky bastard.”
My heart swells. I follow him into the store and we start to look through the hanging dresses.
“How long since you have been on a date?” I ask as he slowly flicks through the dresses on the rack.
He narrows his eyes as he thinks. “I don’t know. A long time. I would have still been in the Marines. Maybe five or six years.”
My mouth drops open. “You were a Marine?”
He looks down at me and smiles sexily. “Yes. I was a Marine.”
I put my hands on my hips and stare in wonder up at him.
